


Dissenting Opinions

by Katranga



Series: Drop the Gauntlets [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because Fenris, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Past Abuse, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katranga/pseuds/Katranga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Mr. I-Hate-Mages started screwing one, for reasons beyond Hawke’s immediate understanding. Like, it was pretty obvious that during missions Fenris got all hot and bothered killing things and wanted to express his excitement through sex. That made sense. But why with Hawke?<br/>--<br/>Hate sex leads to Real Feelings™ which leads to real arguments and a daring rescue, because this work got away from me very quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in general sometime during Act 2, with other bits and pieces merged where I want them.

“Your staff, Serah,” Bodahn called as Hawke swept out the front door.

“I better not need it.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d hurried to Fenris’ place in a rage, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The close proximity of the mansion he was squatting in to her estate was very convenient for her. Whenever she had to go all the way to Lowtown to ream out Isabela, she was already mad about a different thing she saw on the way over there and just wanted a drink.

Fenris never got that lucky.

She banged into the mansion, which Aveline had only recently been able to convince Fenris to rid of decaying bodies, and called for him.

He didn’t answer. He never answered. She didn’t hear him sparring against a wooden dummy out back, so she headed to the study.

She found him, still in full armour, wetting the giant sword he’d picked off a corpse today.

“I expected you an hour ago,” he said without looking up from the task at hand. “I was starting to worry those prisoners turned against you.”

“No, it just turns out that Varric and Isabela have a flawed perception of proper behaviour with _children_.” It took them twice as long to reach the Circle as it would’ve if the two of them hadn’t pointed out every spot they’d killed somebody over the years. “They still weren’t as bad as you.”

“Must we always go through this? I don’t intend to change.”

“You cannot undermine me like that in front of the people I’m trying to help.”

He laid his sword on the desk, scarred with too many dents and gouges to ever write on. “Alright, so we are doing this.”

“They were children,” Hawke said.

“They were mages.”

“Who were the last of their village, scared, alone-”

He rolled his eyes. “Because they burned down the village.”

“They’re children!” Her fists tightened. “They weren’t blood mages, they weren’t abominations. They _wanted_ to go to the Circle.”

She did not want to take them to the Circle, but it wasn’t like she could send ten year old humans off to the Dalish, or slap some sovereigns in their hands and wish them the best. It was their only option- was what she kept telling herself.

She pointed an accusatory finger at Fenris. “And yet you still suggested killing them.”

“It was a joke.” He lifted his sword to the light, examining it like this conversation wasn’t interesting enough to hold his full attention.  “I knew you’d never.”

“The children didn’t.” She invaded his space, trying to get him to look at her again. “What’s wrong with you? Do you get off on scaring people?”

“I’m sorry, Hawke,” he said, leaking false regret. “If we find another group of mage children who set their village on fire, I won’t offer to ghost their hearts out.”

She knocked his wrist down so the sword was forced out of his eye line.

His nostrils flared. “If you disapprove of my behaviour so much, why do you keep inviting me on these missions?”

“If you hate mages so much, why do you keep joining me?”

“Maybe I want to keep you in line.” He laid the flat of his sword against her stomach and pushed her back. Anger flared red hot in her chest. “Maybe I just like the coin.”

She kicked at an empty wine bottle on the floor. “Keep me in line? I need to keep _you_ in line. You’d lop off the head of every mage you met if it weren’t for me.”

His lips curled like a wolf’s. “And I’d be doing a service.”

She advanced so fast that he actually backed up. “You can’t hate every mage just because a few did horrible things to you.”

His face clouded, and he leaned in so close she could smell the sweat on his skin. “I voraciously disagree.”

“Well, I-” She started her sentence without knowing how it would end, a common tendency of hers that only led to trouble.

Luckily, in this instance she was saved the trouble of scrambling for a comeback because Fenris kissed her.

An altogether unexpected outcome.

Fenris was attractive, of that there was no doubt. His long, lithe form and lean muscles practically begged for attention. Hawke and Isabela had spent more than one conversation detailing what they’d do to him if either had the chance. But that was the thing: Fenris was the last person Hawke thought she had a shot with. She could be as nice and helpful as possible, but they always ended up fighting. Which, sure, with other people that might’ve worked, but she wasn’t certain Fenris had ever even touched her before this moment.

That didn’t mean she didn’t welcome it. But, still…

Shock kept her eyes open, staring at the blurry form of Fenris’ face so close to hers. Shock also caused laughter to bubble out of her mouth.

He pulled away with the grimmest scowl she’d ever seen him wear. “ _What_?”

 “Is this what all this tension has been about? Here I was thinking you wanted to tear my heart from my ribs.”

“I still might,” he rumbled before backing her into the edge of the desk. His lips were harsh and demanding, just like his words. He laid one hand at the side of her neck, the claws of his gauntlets digging at her skin.

She pulled at his wrist. “Take off the gloves. And drop the damn blade. I promise you won’t need it.”

The sword skidded across the floor to the other side of the room. Fenris glowered at her as he tore off his gauntlets and the gloves underneath and let them drop at his feet. “Will you shut up now?”

She smirked. “You’re gonna have to make-”

He grabbed her by the face and covered her mouth with his own, his nails digging into her skin now. But Hawke could work with that. She hopped onto the desk and hooked her legs around his waist, drawing him closer until there was no space left between them.

When she tried to run her fingers through his silky hair, a temptation she thought she no longer had to resist, he dragged both her hands onto the desk and held them there like cuffs.

“Still with the touching thing?” When he first joined the crew, Isabela poked at a tattoo on his arm and he nearly broke her hand.

“Yes.”

“Is that fair?”

He dragged his nails down her clothed thigh. “It doesn’t need to be.”

And she must have agreed because she kept a white-knuckled hold on the edge of the desk as he tugged off her pants and drew moans from her with his fingers, only bringing his mouth to hers when she tried to speak. Otherwise he just watched the effect he had on her with hooded eyes. It made her feel like an exhibit, an experiment of Fenris’ to be conducted at his pleasure. But she was too far gone to object.

“Fen-” His mouth stole her words, as hot and rough as his ministrations. “Fenris-” He kissed her again and she had to tilt her head back to speak, as if calling to the heavens, “ _Please_.”

He stilled, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted. “What?”

“You know what,” she said through gritted teeth.

Tending to every last squabble in Kirkwall did not leave a lot of spare time for sexual endeavours; it had been months since she’d so much as drunkenly fondled Isabela’s breasts. She needed this.

He lifted a brow and brought his fingers to her clit, a slow steady pressure, no more than a tease. “Do I? We so often have dissenting opinions.”

She was sure her nails were leaving dents on the underside of the desk.

She spread her thighs further, which brought his attention down to her glistening core. He swallowed, neck shining with sweat.

He removed his hand, which was worse than the teasing. “Beg.”

A frustrated laugh escaped her lips. “Didn’t I just?”

Within a second, he had her flipped over, bent over the desk, his long body draped over her. She was immobile underneath him. His mouth brushed her ear, hot breath drenching the side of her face. “I said beg.”

“Please.” She arched into him, desperate for friction. “Fenris, please.”

He nipped at her ear and then drew back. She twisted around, angry that this was some sort of trick, like all he wanted was to make her beg for his cock so he’d have the upper hand in any future quarrel- but he pushed her down by the neck with the hand that wasn’t undoing his pants.

“Hands over your head,” he ordered.

With a barely concealed groan, she brought her hands higher and gripped the sides of the desk.

Then he laid his cock against her flesh. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it, thick and hot against her. She pressed back, but he held her hips still, so tight it would bruise.

“Please. Please fuck me.” He wanted her to beg, _fine_. She’d sing a song if that’s what he asked for next.

Instead Fenris let out a low groan as he filled her with one stroke. She gasped, closing her eyes to focus on the sensation. He dragged her closer and started pounding into her with all of the carefully controlled power he used in battle. Forceful and furious, but not wild. Every movement had a purpose. He knew exactly what he was doing.

And he was doing it _very well_. Hawke continued to moan out her pleas for fear that he’d stop suddenly and leave her without. He absolutely could not. Heat rose within her as Fenris’ thrusts grew harsher. She whined, but he held her tight, so she couldn’t adjust her angle, only get fucked at his will.

“Is this what you want?” he asked as he filled her, over and over.

She pressed her forehead into the desk, squeezing her eyes shut. Her toes were already curling against the floor, there was a tightness in her stomach, looming outward as Fenris kept a punishing pace. “Yes, yes. Don’t stop.”

He chuckled, moving one hand to grip her shoulder so he could buck into her deeper.

She cried out as her orgasm coursed through her, alighting her skin with heat. Fenris didn’t slow. She rode the aftershocks, clenching around him, until that pleasure turned to over sensitivity.

He draped himself over her again, cock buried in her swollen center. All she could sense was him. He panted over her neck, “The great Hawke, finally silent.” His lilting voice curled into her ear. “Have I performed a miracle?”

She scoffed the best she could. “Your cock isn’t-”

He pulled nearly all the way back and then threw his hips forward. She hissed, arching into him.

“Mm, you think on that.” Fenris continued fucking into her, his harsh breathing now at her ear. She could hear every grunt he made, felt the rumble of it against her back. He held her down by the shoulder, hips moving faster as he grew closer, and Hawke in turn felt herself getting close again.

Fenris’ grip tightened, digging into her so hard it hurt, as his cut-off grunt hit her ear. He spilled into her, hot and wet and so much.

He pulled back, leaving her body cool. Slipped out, and she whined, already throbbing for more. “I’m close.”

“Unless that was you pissing yourself, you already came.” Even seconds after coming he was in a foul mood.

She scowled, sitting up. He’d already put himself away. “I’m close again,” she said sourly. “Must be your incomparable sexual prowess.”

He smirked. “Two, though? Would that be fair?”

She glared at him but he didn’t budge. So she brought her own fingers to her clit, swollen and drenched in both their fluids.

“Fine,” she gasped as she began to work it over. “Just gimme a minute then.”

His eyebrows lowered. “No.”

“No? If you refuse to help-”

He pushed her onto her back. She smiled, bringing her hands over her head.

And then he lowered his mouth to her and let his wicked tongue do the work.

 

It was the first time, but it certainly wasn’t the last.

A week later, they were at the Wounded Coast in some cave that looked the exact same as the past four they’d been in. They killed whoever was stupid enough to try to take them on, and then, while Aveline tended to Varric’s wounds, Fenris brought her into a separate room, talking about some good loot he found.

“If there are locked chests, we should wait for Varric,” Hawke was saying, Fenris’ true motives going completely over her head until he pressed her into the wall.

She tore her mouth away from his. “What?”

Fenris scowled, as if she’d been the one to lure him into a darkened room for clandestine sex. “ _What_?”

She reached out to swipe the splattered blood off his face. He smacked her hand away.

“Oh, that’s hot.” He opened his mouth to retort but she cut him off. “And don’t say it doesn’t have to be. It does, and I’m not sure why fucking twenty paces from rotting corpses is supposed to get me excited.”

“They’re not rotting yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, fresh murder is much sexier.”

He sighed in irritation. “Do you want to fuck or not?”

She tilted her head in consideration. Last time had been _very_ good. And she’d yet to find any better way to vent her frustrations about Fenris.

She cast a glance through the doorway to make sure Varric and Aveline weren’t anywhere near. “Okay, lose the gloves.”

With a dark look, he obliged. “Hands above your head.”

With a sigh, she let him pin her hands against the stone. “Your thing’s weirder than mine.”

Then his mouth silenced her words, her sighs, her moans.

 

So Mr. I-Hate-Mages started screwing one, for reasons beyond Hawke’s immediate understanding. Like, it was pretty obvious that during missions Fenris got all hot and bothered killing things and wanted to express his excitement with sex. That made sense. But why Hawke?

Well, hate sex, she guessed, even though she hoped he didn’t actually hate her. Like, sure, she was a mage, but he helped her rid Kirkwall of crime (or commit crime, whatever was on the roster that day), and they battled together, and they fucked. That meant something, right?

Hawke had no one to confirm or dissuade her because she wasn’t telling anybody. She wanted to tell Isabela, discuss which of their predictions on Fenris lined up with reality, But Isabela would tell Varric and then the whole gang would know and if it somehow got back to Carver with the Templars, or worse, her mother, she’d probably die of embarrassment.

So she didn’t tell Isabela about the way the tattoos on his throat flexed when he groaned, or how hot it was that he could hold her entire body against the wall with one hand, or how his lyrium tattoos flared like lightning before he came.

She didn’t even tell her about when they saved a travelling merchant from a group of bandits. He said to Fenris, “You really know how to handle your sword.”

And Hawke said, “He sure does!”

And Fenris’ eyes slid to hers and his mouth tilted into a half smile

Hawke had nearly fainted from shock. But there was no one to tell! It was getting frustrating, but sneaking around was fun, too.

They’d been going at it for a few months, and everything was good. Well, as good as a person who hated mages and a mage in a secret sexual relationship could be.

 But then they were somewhere below Darktown, following up on a lead on some stolen cargo, because nobody in the entire city could solve their own damn problems, and they got into a fight with the mercenaries, who –surprise- had stolen the cargo, which turned out to be living people. Hawke really had to start asking more questions before accepting missions.

Fenris just fisted one guy’s heart right out of his chest, which might not have been the wisest move, but that wasn’t her place to argue. She had a lot of dumb moves.

Hawke and Fenris ended up split up from Merrill and Varric with a crap load of enemies to finish off. With just the two of them, Hawke was down in the thick of things, right where Anders and Merrill were always telling her not to be. Could she have taken down the same amount of guys a safe distance away from their swords and daggers?

Sure.

But where was the fun in that?

She froze the mercenary in front of her and then slammed her staff into his side, breaking him into a hundred icy chunks. She blasted a few more absentmindedly, growing increasingly less cavalier as she counted how many men were still approaching.

Fenris was at her back, not slowing down one bit. He had just as many.

Time to bring in the big guns.

She waved her staff around and thumped it to the ground, beginning her lightning spell.

Fenris started muttering of his own. More Tevene curses she didn’t understand, but then, “Please, please, please don’t do that spell, please don’t.”

She stopped. Slammed the mercenaries to the ground instead and then sent them crashing across the room. She spun around to face him. “Do you have a problem with my lightning storm?”

He flicked blood off his sword. “It’s unbelievably ostentatious.”

“Ostenta-” She started incredulously. She shook her head. “Fen, I know you love a good fight but there were like fifteen guys left. I’d rather be ostentatious than dead.”

“Your force magic-” his lip curled just saying it “-finished them off just as easily. Why do you insist on being so over the top?”

Behind Fenris, a lone mercenary rose to his feet. “Because they get back up.” She flicked her staff around Fenris’ back to zap the mercenary one last time.

Fenris had the tip of his blade at her throat before their enemy even hit the ground.

“Andraste’s tits, Fenris, what’re you doing?” She knocked his sword away with her staff.

He gaped, looking from her face to his hand as if he had _accidentally_ almost cut her head off. “You- I thought-”

“Did you think I was gonna shoot you?” She scoffed at such a ridiculous idea.

Instead of answering he whipped out a bloody rag and started cleaning his sword.

Hawke stared at him. “When have I ever hurt you?”

His mouth curled, but he wouldn’t look at her. “You haven’t.”

She spread her arms. “So what’s your problem? Fenris-”

He met her eyes. “You’re a mage-”

“By the Maker!” Why did it always come back to that? Hadn’t she proved by now that she was worlds different from his former master? “If you’re so scared of me, why have we been fucking?”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“Just everybody else who’s like me?” She shoved her staff back into its holster with more force than strictly necessary. How exactly had she expected this tryst to end? Fenris never agreed with any of her decisions on mages. It was stupid to think he felt any different about her, so why was she so upset when he expressed his feelings clearly? Clear enough to kill her.

He’d literally almost killed her because he didn’t trust her enough to believe she wouldn’t use magic against him. After years of knowing each other, and months screwing, after she’d let him hold her down-

She looked at her hands as if she’d never seen them before. She drew them into fists and brought her glare up to Fenris. “What did you think I was going to do to you?”

He looked lost for the first time since she’d known him, but it lasted only a second before his usual snarl overtook his lips. “I would be foolish not to be cautious.” He waved at the dozen men scattered in a circle around them. “Look what you can do.”

She pointed at a disembodied head on the ground. “Look what _you_ can do! That doesn’t mean I think you’ll do the same to me. Are we not a team? Do we not trust each other?”

Before either could say anymore, Varric and Merrill ran into the room.

“There you are,” Varric said. “We found the slaves in cages. There any keys in here?”

Hawke stomped over to the guy with the biggest mouth and grabbed the key from around his neck. She strode past Fenris without looking at him. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Dragon Age fic, so please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke didn’t hear from Fenris for weeks, which made her realize that it was always her reaching out to him- rounding him up for missions, stopping by with updates on the rest of their crew, making sure he was filling himself with something other than fermented grapes once in a while. When she stopped calling on him, all communication ceased. If she’d noticed that trend sooner, maybe she wouldn’t have been thrown so off-kilter by Fenris wanting nothing to do with her.

Except for the fact that they’d been having sex, a lot of it, which he started, and always initiated.

So… nothing except sex. She knew that. Why was she so shocked?

Had she started to think of scenarios that turned out to be ridiculously far-fetched? Yes. But that wasn’t her fault. Fenris was sleeping with her even though he hated mages, so she couldn’t draw any conclusion other than she was the exception, even though that turned out to be woefully incorrect. 

In any case, her other companions were starting to notice Fenris’ absence.

“Haven’t seen Broody lately,” Varric said one day while they were hiking through Sundermount. “He really piss you off in that fight, or what?”

Hawke found a source for elf root and jotted it down in her notes. “It wasn’t a fight.”

“What were you fighting about?” Isabela asked, picking dirt and blood from under her nails. “Being a mage or using magic?”

Hawke sent her a withering glare.

Aveline shook her head. “I worry when he’s not around. I don’t know what he’s getting up to.”

Luckily a group of bandits descended upon them and the subject was dropped.

But the next day, even Anders asked of Fenris’ whereabouts. His concerns were along the lines of Aveline’s; that Fenris would cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people if Hawke didn’t keep on top of him. A poor choice of words, but everyone’s inquiries were making it quite clear that Hawke couldn’t just ignore Fenris’ existence until he decided to apologize.

Which was annoying. So she wasn’t really in the mood to stop by Merrill’s for tea, but she insisted Hawke had to try some scones she’d just bought, so Hawke obliged. It wasn’t like she was really looking forward to seeing Fenris again anyway.

Not long into their chat, Merrill brought up him up.

“Did the slavery ring really upset Fenris, then?” Merrill stirred her tea and looked Hawke with wide eyes. “Is that why he hasn’t come out on a mission in so long?”

“Uh.” The thought honestly hadn’t occurred to her, that perhaps the fact that they were tracking slave traders would have had any effect on him. “I don’t know.”

“You haven’t talked to him?”

“No, we uh… we actually got into a fight so I haven’t seen him since.”

“Really? Because you keep saying you two didn’t fight.”

“Yeah, I was lying.” Hawke knocked the hard pastry Merrill had offered her against her chipped plate. She wasn’t sure if the rock-like consistency was because it was a weird elven dessert or if all the food in the alienage was like this. She set it down, feeling guilty either way.

“So why are you telling the truth now?”

Hawke knew Fenris had a history with mages, which included being a slave and abused and those lyrium tattoos. She knew fully well that it was all awful, but it didn’t give him any right to hate her, did it? She wasn’t like that. She’d been so sure of herself until she remembered those slaves they freed last month, emaciated and terrified, and imagined Fenris in their place.

She took a sip of tea to soothe her throat, suddenly unbearably dry. “I guess I want a second opinion.”

“Oh, well you probably shouldn’t have lied,” Merrill said. “But I’m sure you had a good reason? What was the problem with Fenris?” She spoke both statement and question with an interrogative lilt.

“I want an opinion on the fight not- whatever.” She sighed. “So, Fenris hates mages.”

Merrill nodded attentively.

“And he’s scared of me.”

She blinked owlishly. “You’re a very intimidating person, Hawke. And we knew he hated mages this whole time.”

“But you wouldn’t want him to hate you if you were, say, romantically involved, right?” She didn’t particularly want to share all the gritty details with Merrill, so hopefully she’d get the answer she was looking for by talking around the subject.

Merrill’s cheeks turned cherry red. “I’m not romantically involved with him, though.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, I don’t think he’d ever get involved with a mage. He hates them! Us,” she clarified. “Mages.”

Hawke covered her face with her hand and groaned.

She sipped her tea and then said, “I’m not even sure if I blame him.”

She looked up over her fingers. “What?”

“I mean, slavery is a torture, and that Danarius had him for years. I’m sure he literally tortured Fenris as well. All he talks about is how unhappy he is, and it’s all because of him and those other magisters.”

“But not all mages are going to force him into slavery.”

She tilted her head. “But we all have the power to, and that’s what frightens people.” She bit into her own irregularly hard scone without any trouble. “I mean, I understand. I was scared of shemlen for a long time.”

“What? Why?”

“Just everything you’ve done to my people up until, and including, now,” she said with a shrug. “You know, destroying our culture, killing us, forcing us into these horrible alienages.” She shuddered. “Oh, I’m getting worked up just thinking about it,” she said with a laugh. “I’m sorry, what was your fight about?”

Maybe she’d spent too much time around Templars and other random people who hated mages for no reason that she’d never really taken Fenris’ history seriously. He referenced it a lot, sure, but he also regularly interacted with three mages so how upset could he be?

That rationalization sounded pretty weak, even to her.

Hawke bit into the scone with a frown. It was salty and dry, but she didn’t spit it out because Merrill was looking straight at her.

“Uh, thanks, Merrill. You really cleared some things up. I think I’ll just have to talk to Fenris.”

 “Oh, no problem! Happy to help. Even though I don’t know exactly what this was about…” She shrugged, smiling widely. “Did you like the scone?”

 

When Hawke returned to her estate that night, she found Fenris on the bench in her front entry room, elbows propped on his knees, his entire body a mess of long limbs and hard angles.

She stuttered to a shocked stop.

Despite the conversation she just had with Merrill, the first thing that came out of her mouth was, “You’ve come all the way to the dragon’s den. Mighty brave of you.”

He glared up at her from beneath his silvery white bangs. “I wanted to speak with you.”

“In peace, I hope.” She spread her palms. “I haven’t even got my staff.”

He scowled. Fenris, of course, was completely decked out in sharp armour, with his latest comically large sword slung across his back. Different than his last one. The thought of him going out without backup sent a shot of concern through her.

“So I’ve had some time to think.” By which she meant that Merrill flipped her entire perspective. “And perhaps you were not completely in the wrong. You can’t control who you’re afraid of. I understand that conceptually-”

Fenris stood. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“So you put that sword to my throat for fun?” The words came out of her mouth without getting the go-ahead from her brain.

 “I can’t control my instinct of self-preservation.” Fenris took a long chug out of the wine bottle in his hand, which she’d neglected to notice.

“Oh, good. Drinking. Do I even want to know what you have to say?”

“Do you?” His lyrium tattoos pulsed faintly.

She reminded herself that she did, in fact, want an explanation. She nodded. “Fine. Say your piece.”

He took another sip of wine. Hawke was starting to think she’d need some as well to get through this.

“I’m not scared of you.” He nearly met her eyes. “You’re perhaps the only mage I do not fear.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m honoured.” She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else.

 “Because of that, the first time we were together, it was, perhaps more than anything, a misguided attempt to prove to myself that mages were nothing to fear. If I could safely bend one over a table and have her at my mercy-”

“Oh, thank the Maker! I thought it was going to be something _perverse_.” She strode past him to the inner door, sparks flying to her fingertips with outrage. “I’ve heard enough, Fenris.”

 She was disgusted and more than that, ashamed at never suspecting she was being used. He barely touched her when they were together; it wasn’t like he was after her body. And he certainly wasn’t interested in her as a person.

How did she think she was anything more than a bogeyman to Fenris? The culmination of everything he hated of his former master, a simple figurehead of mages everywhere to use to fuck his fears away.

This was way worse than being scared of her because she was a mage. Why had she been angry before? She should be angry _now_.

He grabbed her elbow but she jerked back. His clawed gauntlets left red marks on her skin. “Hawke, please.”

“Y’know, I’m scared of Templars. It doesn’t mean I wanna seduce one just to prove than I can!” If he wanted her to stay, then she’d make him feel as shitty as she did.

“That was only my intention the first time at the mansion-”

“Yeah, every other time was right after combat, where I _flaunted_ my powers by keeping us all alive.” She’d never second guessed his intentions because she was having fun, enjoying taking out her frustrations on an aggravating team mate. Meanwhile, he was terrified of her. “What, did my magic hands frighten you so much that you needed to fuck me into submission to remind yourself I was no threat?”

He clenched his jaw. “It’s not like you didn’t enjoy it.”

She rocked back on her heels. His words always hit like blows. She recovered quickly, tucking her bruised feelings behind her rage. “Well, you can take your desperate need for a power fantasy and shove it up your ass!”

He reached for her when she tried to move past him again. “Don’t touch me. I did that much for you.” She pointed at him. “You let me think you just didn’t like to be touched. Tell me, do you let your other lovers stroke your skin? So much as touch a hair on you head?”

He opened his mouth to speak but instead he poured more wine down it.

So she continued. “I’m just a mage with no boundaries who you can fuck into oblivion but can’t trust with something as trivial as keeping my hands to myself.”

“Hawke, you’re the first person I’ve been with-” He held up a finger and continued drinking. Hawke waited with incredulous baited breath. “Since I escaped Danarius,” he finished. “So you’re really the only person I’ve ever chosen to be with.”

“Well, picking a mage was pretty stupid, wasn’t it?” She spoke before the implication of his words really sunk in. If he never got the choice before her, then…

Shock swam with the pity that she tried to keep off her face.

But she stood by her statement. Why the fuck, after suffering at the hands of mages for years, would the first person you decide to have sex with be a mage?

But of course he’d already explained as much. He needed to prove to himself that he was truly free, that he was strong enough to do as he wished.

Fucking a mage sure would make him feel powerful.

She scowled. “Are we done here?”

He shook his head. “You haven’t let me apologize.”

“Try it. We’ll see how that goes.”

“I am sorry,” he said, sounding more frustrated than apologetic. “I know we have our disagreements, but I shouldn’t have used you to get through my own issues with mages. I did not mean to-” He lifted the wine to his mouth again but Hawke swiped it instead and finished the bottle.

He narrowed his eyes but continued. “I did not mean to belittle your personhood or take advantage of you, or hurt you in any way.”

She frowned. “This is all sounding very sincere. What’s the catch?”

His lyrium tattoos flared silvery blue. “There’s no catch, Hawke. I want to make amends.”

“Okay.” She didn’t know what to say, so she went for the door again. “Let me think on that.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh, Maker-” She almost forgot her entire conversation with Merrill. She sounded just as apologetic as Fenris, which was to say not at all. “I’m sorry for getting so angry about your feelings on mages. It can’t be easy… being around me. It doesn’t excuse you for using me like that.” Her lips twisted. “But out of everyone I’ve met who hates mages, you at least have a good reason.”

“I don’t hate you, Hawke.”

She laid a hand over her heart in jest. “I’m touched.”

“I don’t hate you. I’m not afraid of you. I- I-” He ran a hand through his hair. “I wish you hadn’t finished my wine.”

She shrugged, pushing open her front door. The hall was drenched in darkness.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know of anything that magic has touched that it didn’t spoil.”

“Heard that one before,” she muttered, trying to spot a candle.

“Except you.”

She turned back to him, startled.

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. He was staring at her with all the intensity in the world, uncharacteristically earnest.

Time to make a joke.

“Not yet, anyway,” she said. He scowled. _That_ she was used to. Her shoulders relaxed.  “Where is this coming from? Last time I saw you, you had a blade to my throat.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “I know, I know- instinct. But you wouldn’t have done that if Isabela threw a dagger near you. Right?”

“No,” he admitted. “And, I swear, I was just as surprised as you when I leveled my sword. Because I knew you wouldn’t do anything. I trust you. I feel safe with you and that… infuriates me.”

“Because I’m a mage.” It wasn’t a question. Fenris hated mages, magic, all of it. Finding that he held any kind feelings toward a mage would obviously upset him. His anger was the only part of what he was saying that she understood.

“Yes,” he said. “So I’ve been very conflicted-”

“Before or after you fucked me out of spite?” she asked flatly. “How do you trust something you hate? How do you feel safe with something you fear?”

“You’re different-”

“No.” Indignation snatched at her throat. “I’m a mage. You fucked me _because you hate mages_. You’re scared of us, and I understand, but-”

“Okay, Hawke, you keep saying you understand, but you cannot possibly.”

She spread her hands. “And maybe that doesn’t matter. Because, honestly, I’m sure you went through shit and I’m sure it was terrible, and I feel awful that it happened to you, but I will never condemn the entirety of magekind,” she spread her hands to indicate how large of a people that referred to, “just because the magisters in Tevinter abuse their power. And it doesn’t matter how many abominations I watch tear their way through a mage, I will still trust the next mage who says they need my help. And I think that’s just something _you_ can never understand.”

He stared at her for a long, silent stretch, eyes deep and dark, and for once not holding rage, but something softer and worse.

“But please continue,” she said quietly. “Tell me how I’m different, that I’m a good mage because my magic hasn’t ruined me.”

Surely the declaration was meant to be a compliment, but all she ever heard from him was the repeated condemnation of her kin. And she could handle it when they were just team mates, and she ignored it while they were sleeping together, but now Fenris came to her house, apologetic and open, truly wanting to redeem himself for potentially more than just friendship, more than a casual dalliance. And she could only respond with the same honesty, whether he liked it or not.

“I am explaining myself poorly,” he tried once last time.

“You don’t answer to me. Past what you’ve already said, you don’t have to explain yourself at all.”

He looked off to the side. “You are correct. I’ll take my leave, then.”

“Okay,” she said, the fight draining out of her. He turned to go and she added, “We’ll be at the docks tomorrow following up on a lead. If you want to come.” An olive branch. He was welcome back to the crew, just not under her clothes.

He laughed hollowly. “I’ll pass, Hawke.”

“Well… let me know,” she called as he walked away.

Maker, she needed a drink.

 

Weeks passed. Tension rose with the Qunari. Tempers flared with the Templars. Hawke and Co took down a coven of blood mages and she got a cool new staff.

Fenris did not resurface.

“You know what, I haven’t seen that elf in weeks,” Varric said. The lot of them were taking up a table at the Hanged Man, tossing out suggestions of where they’d live if they ever got the hell out of Kirkwall. Isabela had said she’d never been to Tevinter. Varric pointed to the far corner of the bar. “He used to mope alone over there all the time.”

Aveline’s brows furrowed. “He hasn’t come round to bother me about the patrols passing his mansion in a while, either.”

“How did your talk with him go, Hawke?” Merrill asked innocently.

All their attention turned to her.

“Oh, um… good,” she lied.

“Really?” Isabela drawled. “What was that fight about, anyway?”

That first fight, now at least two months gone. She shrugged. “The usual.”

Anders swirled his ale. “Calling all mages abominations?”

“Something like that.”

He tipped back the rest of his drink. “Well, I can’t say I haven’t welcomed his absence, but doesn’t it concern you that he’s seemed to vanish into thin air?”

Hawke was giving him space. After she rejected him.

And avoiding him, after he confessed his true intent behind all the secret sex.

That was the polite course of action, right?

They were all still staring at her.

She sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

She went to his mansion later that day, preparing herself for an uncomfortable mixture of awkward silences and cold aloofness. But he wasn’t out back sparring, and he wasn’t in the study brooding, he wasn’t in any of the bedrooms and – _Maker_ \- he wasn’t in the basement pantry where he’d stuffed all the corpses from his conquering of the place.

After she finished gagging on the smell, she went back upstairs. His armour was gone and so was, presumably, one of his swords- he’d accumulated so many it was impossible to tell if one was missing. But she checked the vase that he didn’t know she knew he kept his savings in.

It was empty.

She spun around the study, looking for other personal belongings that would prove he was just out on an errand, like spending all his gold on the biggest sword he could find.

What cherished possessions did Fenris even _have_?

She scanned the bookshelves, telling herself that even if the _Book of Shartan_ was still here, that it didn’t mean anything. Hawke had given it to him, told him she’d teach him how to read, and then completely forgotten about the promise. What use would it do him?

But it wasn’t among the leather bound tomes on the shelf, or tossed into a desk drawer, or in any of the bedrooms.

Maybe he’d just thrown it out.

Hawke waited in his front hall all night, drifted off and woke up the next morning to a rat nibbling her boot.


	3. Chapter 3

“He left!” Hawke slammed her palm on Aveline’s desk. “Just _gone_! Can you believe that?” 

She didn’t look up from her paperwork. “Is that rhetorical?”

“Can you find him?” she demanded. “Not rhetorical.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my men to be on the lookout for a lyrium-tattooed, silver-haired, sometimes glowing, always angry Tevinter elf who can burst hearts.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying with that tone, but I don’t like it.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Hawke, if he left without leaving so much as a note, do you really think he wants to be found?”

“I don’t care what he wants. I’m gonna find him, drag him back here by his elfy ears and…”

“And what?”

Apologize? Ream him out? Kiss him?

“Does it matter?” she snapped.

“You started the sentence.”

She waved a hand as she left.  “Send your patrols.”

“I cannot send patrols specifically-”

The door slammed shut behind her.

On her way to the Hanged Man, she tried to sort through her emotions. Anger. Anger was definitely up there. Indignant. She rattled off all the synonyms for pissed before she got to guilty.

Because, maybe she was being narcissistic, but Fenris left because of her, right? Unless she’d misread the situation (which she probably didn’t because he fucking took off), he came to her with his heart on his sleeve, and she shot him down at every turn because she was an impulsive asshole.

She could’ve at least listened to all he wanted to say. He said he was explaining it poorly!

But what more could he have explained? He already told her that he’d fucked her because he hated everything she represented. It wasn’t like the next words out of his mouth were going to be, ‘But I love mages now. I wanna protect them and fight for their rights with you.’

So what really would have changed?

And why did she want him back so bad?

But then she reached the Hanged Man, and the time for introspection was over. She barged into Varric’s room, or meant to. His door was locked, so she just slammed her shoulder into it. Then she banged on it for at least a minute before the door across the hall creaked open.

“Where the hell is Varric?” she asked before she even turned around. Once she did, she was glad it was not some random irate hungover bar patron.

It was Isabela, the specific irate hungover bar patron. “Andraste’s sweet ass, I’m trying to sleep here, Hawke.”

“So tell me where Varric is and I’ll leave you to it.”

She hiked her bed sheet up under her armpits. “I don’t know. He lives here but he doesn’t _live_ here. He’s got books to write, contacts to keep-”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted.” To check if the rumour mill had cranked out any news of Fenris. How long had she been blithely waiting for him to rejoin the group when he was already gone? He could be in Ferelden by now. She hated Kirkwall, but she had a mansion here. She didn’t want to go back to Ferelden.

Isabela shrugged, the sheet drifting down to reveal half a tit as she started to close the door.

“Hey, wait,” Hawke said. “You got anyone in there with you?”

“No.”

“Then I’m coming in.”

“ _No_.”

Hawke stuck her foot in the door jam. “I’ve been sleeping with Fenris.”

Isabela’s brows rose into her hairline. She swept the door open. “Welcome, friend. Tell me every lascivious detail.”

She gave her an overview and then convinced her to get dressed and do some footwork with her. They started with Lowtown, because they were already there, interrogating every merchant or sketchy-looking shopper.

In between, they walked arm in arm while Isabela dragged every detail out of Hawke.

“So does his _sword_ ,” she wriggled her eyebrows with the ferocity of a worm, “have tattoos?”

“When we find him, will you bring it up?”

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

“Then I’m not sharing.”

She pouted. “Perhaps I’ll find out myself one of these days.”

Jealousy ran through Hawke, especially when she realized that Fenris probably wouldn’t keep Isabela’s hands in a death grip over her head if they screwed.

Isabela slapped her arm. “I’m kidding! At least I am now with that sour look on your face.”

Hawke shook her head. “Now it doesn’t- do what you want. I just want to find him.”

“And ravish him one last time?”

She still hadn’t decided what she’d do when she found him. She supposed it depended on how long it took. Because if he wiped himself completely off the map, and she only happened upon him by chance years down the road, she’d kill him.

And if he’d just packed up his things and moved across town to, like, Darktown or something, she’d kill him then, too.

They walked around Lowtown until the early afternoon, when Isabela got bored and left Hawke alone after promising to let Varric and Merrill know that Fenris was gone.

Then Hawke headed to Darktown by herself to talk to Anders.

“I lost a cat once,” he said when she told him about Fenris. “I was beside myself with worry. Poor little Snowbub, out in the wild all by himself! But you know what a very smart person told me?”

“Don’t-”

“If you love something, set it free.” He spread his hands. “If it loves you, it will return.”

She listed off her counterpoints on her fingers. “Fenris is not a cat. I don’t love him. He doesn’t love me.”

“I know.” He poured dried elf root into a mortar and ground it with a pestle. “He is a grown man. He is a free man. He can go where he likes without telling the mage, who he hates, where he’s going.”

“He doesn’t hate me. He said so.”

Anders pulled a face. “Are you sure he said doesn’t ‘hate’? What about bait? Or mate? Or skate?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he actually said he doesn’t _skate_ me. Because that makes sense.”

“Neither does him saying he doesn’t hate you.” He poured water into the bowl. “You know he’s never called me anything other than ‘abomination’?”

Hawke put a hand on his arm. “I understand your frustration, Anders, but you’re also literally possessed.”

He set the half-finished elf root potion down, his mood curdling. “Have you at all considered the repercussions of putting everyone in the city on high alert for an escaped slave with incredibly recognizable markings?”

No. Of course not. Did he even know her at all?

“Those lyrium tattoos look like a lot of work, and none of you ever caught Danarius, did you?” He raised a brow. “I can only imagine a slave master would be in want of his hard-earned property.”

“He’s not property,” she said lowly.

“And I’m not an abomination. But the world hands out cruel labels. Maybe it would be best if you let him go, Hawke.”

Probably! But now Hawke wasn’t only filled with guilt at making Fenris leave, but drawing unneeded attention to him as he tried to flee.

Contrary to Anders’ intent, his warning only made her want to find Fenris more. Before, she wanted Fenris so she could be mad at him in person. Now she needed to see that he was safe.

She really should have let him finish apologizing.

She spent that night at Fenris’ mansion again, hoping with every moment that he’d stride in and demand to know what the hell she was doing in his house.

It didn’t happen.

But the next morning, Varric’s gossip chain paid off with a merchant in the Gallows who’d sold Fenris supplies four days ago, probably heading to Sundermount. That was bad enough, but it turned out somebody else was looking for him, too.

“Two days ago, now. Some lady, just as mean as the elf. Robes like yours,” the merchant nodded at Hawke.

“A woman?” Isabela looked at Hawke. Not Danarius. Directly, anyway. And two days ago- that was before she started searching for news of him, so in any case, it wasn’t her fault somebody was after him.

The merchant nodded. “So, can I sell you folks some supplies? I got fresh jerky in today.”

Hawke slammed her coin purse on his station. “Load us up.”

 

They first caught sign of Fenris in the form of a slew of corpses blocking a dirt trail. Blood splattered the nearby foliage, there were bushes charred black, the bodies were sliced and some looked like their hearts had just exploded.

Varric toed at a mage staff broken in two. “Sure looks like our boy.” He winked at Hawke. “He’s fine.”

Hawke’s eyes were still roving the bodies. “There’s not a woman here. Whoever’s in charge is still after him.”

Isabela laid a hand against her back. “Hey, it’s Fenris. He’ll be alright.”

She wasn’t as sure. The dead mages wore magister robes. Tevinter. What were the odds this didn’t all lead back to Danarius?

One of the last things she said to him amounted to, ‘Yeah I know mages abused you but I still love them.’ What if that was all he remembered of her after Danarius took him?

Her grip tightened on her staff. “We have to find him.”

“Of course we do,” Merrill said. “And we will.”

Hawke’s thoughts on the matter were starting to unravel. What if he was fine? What if by the time they found him, he’d killed everybody he needed to and didn’t want to go back with them? That was of course, better than the alternative- that even now, Fenris was already in the back of Danarius’ carriage, or cage, or pulled behind his horse on a rope lead.

Dread struck her heart. Facing down those darkspawn while fleeing Ferelden, the last moments of Bethany’s life, and the giant dragon descending from the sky. That day was all she could compare to this intestine-clogging fear of Fenris already being back with his former slave master.

And that had to mean something, right? But she couldn’t think about her feelings for him over her rationalizing that Fenris had to be safe. He could kill Danarius before that, right? He’d killed all those men on his own. He could take care of himself.

But her heart wouldn’t calm until she reached him.

She forced them onward, as far and as fast as they could get. Fenris had a four day head start on them, but only two on the mages who were after him. They had to catch up.

Sooner than she expected, they found a cave mouth guarded by two men.

Varric leveled Bianca at them. “What’re you guarding, boys?”

They brought their staffs out from behind their backs. Varric shot both of them in the chest before they had time to cast a spell. “I think we’re in the right place.”

They breached the cave and a coldness seeped into Hawke’s bones.

“Well.” Isabela’s breath came out of her mouth in a white puff. “Now I hope we’re not in the right place.”

Ice stuck to the stone in patches, fluctuating between slick and shiny to rough like frost. The walls, the floors, stray barrels and boxes. In circular patches, like the aim from a staff.

“Fenris!” Hawke called.

Varric hushed her wildly. “You wanna bring every mage in here right to us?”

Yes. And she’d kill all of them. Fenris knew that, right? He’d seen her kill mages just as fast as she’d kill someone wielding a blade or a bow. She spent so much time defending mages to him, but did he know that she knew not all mages were good?

She pointed her staff at the ice in their path and shot a soft flame at it, melting it to water as they walked further in. She had to wonder why just ice. If the mage hunting Fenris wanted him alive for Danarius, a simple stun would work better than ice. Ice could kill you just as easily as fire. And if she wanted him dead, there were more effective spells.

They made it to the lowest level. Hawke’s teeth chattered from the cold, but also at the lack of enemies. She wanted to do something, she wanted to fight. Not just melt ice off the ground.

“I don’t like this.” Isabela’s tight voice was at her shoulder as they entered a wide cavern. “Why couldn’t you have brought Anders along instead?”

“Anders hates Fenris.” Or vice versa. Or both.

“Fenris hates mages.”

“I’m afraid that’s partly my fault.” A new voice from behind them. A female mage emerged from a hall cast in shadow. They’d walked right past it.

Hawke shot a funnel of fire at her. She deflected it, so Hawke sent a lightning bolt at her stomach, fist of rock at face, a force push back into the tunnel. Hawke followed her into the darkness as her friends told her to wait, just a second. “You got an elf here? He’s not yours.”

“Fenris found a new master? And one so stupid?” One second the voice was far in front of her, the next right behind her. A burst of cold erupted in her lower back. She cried out, brought to her knees in pain.

As the frozen pain traveled up her spine, she spun her staff and slammed it to the ground. Electricity crackled at her fingertips. Sparked her tongue. Sizzled through the whole cavern until the coldness stopped with a snap.

In front of her, there was a sound like crashing glass.

All she could see was glowing silver-blue lines in the darkness. “You’ll never take me alive, Danarius!”

“Fenris,” she choked out.

His tattoos wavered. “Hawke?”

She lit a ball of fire in her palm. Its light threw shadows on the wall, lit the thick shards of ice at Fenris’ feet, the rim of frost around the mouth of the tunnel.

Her other companions rushed in behind her.

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke. I can’t shoot in the dark!” Varric said angrily.

In the faint glow of her fire, Fenris’ eyes looked shining. He might have been looking right at her. “What are you doing here?”

“You left.” She leaned on her staff to rise to her feet. “Just gone. Who does that?”

“Yes, yes, a very heartfelt reunion,” Isabela cut in. “Is the mage dead?”

Hawke drew the fire closer to the body and jabbed her stomach with the butt of her staff. Not so much as a grunt. “I think so.”

“Hadriana?” Fenris said.

“Ex-girlfriend?” Hawke asked as she led them out of the tunnel.

“Danarius’ apprentice.” The first she saw of him when he came into the light was his scowl. “A tormentor. I… I wanted to kill her.”

She shrugged. “Sorry.” She raked him over for any injuries. Frost bite on his arms, or maybe just a bad rash. Dark bags under his eyes. A few cuts. Other than that he looked fine.

Fenris caught her stare. “Are you okay?”

Now that he was in front of her, safe and sound, she still didn’t know what to do. He’d never liked her touching him, and all she wanted to do was hug him.

She rubbed at her back with a smile. “Just pain.”

Varric was eyeing the two of them shiftily.

Merrill, meanwhile, was worrying. “Ah, Fenris, were you just guessing or will Danarius soon be joining us?”

The undecipherable look on Fenris’ face while staring at Hawke disappeared. His mouth drew into a hard line. “Hadriana was sure he’d make it here today.”

“So are we ambushing or fleeing?” Isabela twirled her twin daggers.

“Ambush.” His snarl turned fierce. “I’ve been waiting to kill him for years.”

Merrill asked a bunch of simple questions, but it turned out that no, Fenris didn’t know how many people Danarius was bringing, or where all the entrances to this cavern were, or even where he could find his sword.

“I don’t need my sword,” he insisted as they left the way they came. “I will tear his heart out with my bare hand.”

“Okay, but you’ve been holed up in an ice cave for two days, you haven’t eaten…” Varric’s voice trailed off as he, Isabela, and Merrill continued onward while Fenris motioned for Hawke to stop.

Her heart pounded in her throat.

“Hawke, I have to kill him,” he said lowly. “This could be my only chance.”

“I under-” She stopped herself and instead said, “Okay. We’ll wait outside. I’ll stand by you.”

He nodded slowly. “Thank you.” They started walking again.

“What happened with all those dead magisters on the way up here, anyway?” Hawke asked. “Did you take them down and then flee from Hadriana?”

His lips tilted into a half smile. “No. Hadriana fled from me.”

She didn’t want to shatter his pride, but, “And then she trapped you in a cave with an ice wall?”

He scowled.

“Hawke! Broody! We got company,” Varric yelled from the mouth of the cave.

Fenris’ tattoos were alive in an instant.

They rushed out of the cave. A dozen magisters milled about a caravan drawn by two horses.

“Not even fifteen guards,” Fenris muttered. “Should I be offended?”

“Be offended when he’s dead.” She said as a man who could only be Danarius exited the vehicle.

His eyes were shrewd and calculating, looking over Fenris in a possessive but disinterested way. Like he knew Fenris was his; he could leer at him all he wanted later.

Disgust and rage swirled in Hawke’s gut to make her feel queasy.

“Even free of me you have run to a new master,” Danarius said. He now looked at Hawke. Her skin crawled. “It is the only life a slave knows. Tell me, would you make a deal for him to avoid bloodshed?”

Hawke twirled her staff in front of her, drawing on the power of the fade. “He’s no one’s slave. You will not take him.”

“A mage!” Danarius’ grin was wide, shark-like, as he lifted his own staff. “Always so desperately attracted to magic. You even begged for those tattoos.”

Fenris’ face twisted like gnarled tree roots. “I did no such thing.”

“You killed for them. Come back to me, my little Fenris. You can kill again.”

“I’ll kill you,” he cried as he rushed into battle.

If the fight had started to look bad, Hawke would have brought a lightning storm down on their foes. But she didn’t need to. Hawke’s people were the best at what they did, and what they did was _win_.

Sweat broke Hawke’s brow as she dispatched a volley of spells. Merrill turned their enemies’ own blood against them, and Isabela sliced and stabbed while Varric shot through necks with ease.

And Fenris. Even without a sword, he had that gleefully dark look on his face as he moved through the crowd like a glowing ghost, slipping his hands into chests like they were nothing and leaving corpses in his wake.

But then he got smacked in the head with a staff and his fluid movements turned jerky. He stopped, shaking his head to regain his balance. Danarius loomed behind him.

From the other side of the fight, Hawke pointed her staff straight at him. “Fenris!”

He met her eyes. Dropped to his knees.

She ploughed Danarius into the caravan with a force blast.

Fenris was on him in an instant.

Danarius stared up at him in shock.

Their enemies were always so surprised that they were about to die. It became comical after a while.

“You will not ruin me again,” Fenris growled. Danarius didn’t have time for one more manipulative word before Fenris plunged his hand through his chest. A _snap_ , a burst of blood.

Danarius was no more.

 

They dragged the bodies into the caravan meant to bring Fenris back to Tevinter, force him back into a life of slavery. They pushed it off a cliff, and didn’t watch it crash into the waves.

The sun was setting, a blazing yellow circle on the horizon.

“We’ll make camp further away from this mess,” Varric said. “It’s too late to make it all the way back tonight.”

They gathered their things. Hawke had found Fenris’ pack and sword in the bushes by the initial two guards. So he was ready to go.

She watched him carefully, waiting with baited breath to see which way he would go. Back to Kirkwall with her or away.

He followed Varric apparently without an ounce of thought.

She made a pleased noise.

“Hawke?”

“You’re coming home,” she observed as she fell in step beside him.

“Where else would I go?”

“Where were you going?”

He jerked his head back toward the cliffs. “To kill him.”

She gaped. “You were going back to Tevinter?”

He shook his head. “I heard Hadriana was sniffing around for me in Kirkwall, so I left town planning to ambush her. I thought if I could kill all the mages who’d personally hurt me… I don’t know.” He lifted his arm, glaring down at his tattoos like he could sear them off with his disgust alone. “I didn’t want horrible revelations. I wanted peace. But it seems like I am not fated for it.”

“He’s dead now. Along with plenty of other Tevinter mages. At the very least you can’t feel worse.”

He was silent for a few moments before saying, “Yes, he is dead. A great cosmic mistake has been corrected. He cannot hurt anyone ever again. That is a relief.”

But he was still staring the tattoos on his forearm. She reached out to comfort him before she jerked her hand back, remembering herself.

“No it’s-” He stopped walking to look at her. “Did you truly come out here just because I left?”

“Yes. You just disappeared. _Gone_ ,” she reiterated in case he didn’t understand how unacceptable that was. “Without a note, without a goodbye. Who does that?”

He frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re mad at me, or if you missed me.”

“Both. I can feel up to three emotions at once. It’s exhausting.”

“So is exhausted your third emotion right now?”

“Yes,” she snapped, “because I spent the past two night sleeping in your front hallway hoping you’d come back.”

“Hawke, there are beds in that house,” he said gently.

“Oh, now you’re reasonable?” She laughed without a ton of humour. “Not when you go off to take on Maker knows how many mages _alone_? You should’ve brought me in on this, Fen. What would have happened if I hadn’t showed up?”

“I would have gone down in a blaze of furious glory,” he said as if he’d already considered it. Which, he must have. He was in that icy cell for two days, fully expecting the next face he saw to be Denarius. He must have planned his death.

She itched to take his hand, to reassure herself that that fate hadn’t befallen him.

“You don’t know how glad I am that I arrived in time,” she said.

He tilted his head. “I really don’t. When we last spoke-”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she cut him off. Her thoughts spilled out of her mouth like a dam breaking. “Maybe it doesn’t matter that you hate mages. If you can look past me being a mage, I can look past your hatred of mages, right? As long as we trust each other. That’s fair.”

Fenris’ eyes were wide. “You would want that?”

“Yes. I was too worried, and too pissed, and too terrified-”

“Your full capacity of emotion,” he observed, lips tilting into a tentative smile.

She kind of wanted to kiss it off his face, but she also wanted to watch it grow. “Right? You’ve had me at full capacity _at least_ twice. That has to mean something, right?”

He nodded. His gloved fingers, caked in blood, stretched. He looked down at them with a huff.

“After what I went through, with-” He jerked his head to the cliff again as he pulled off his gauntlets and gloves. “I didn’t think I would be capable of caring this much for anyone, mage or not. And I certainly didn’t believe any feelings would be reciprocated.”

His gloves hit the grass with a dull thud.

He held out his hands, his bare arms on display. His crisscrossing tattoos shone faintly in the dim light. “But you, Hawke. I never saw you coming.”

Gently, as if he were an illusion she could disperse by moving too fast, Hawke laid her fingers on his forearm. His muscles tensed under his warm skin, but he didn’t pull away.

He took her gently by the elbow and drew her closer until their bodies lined up perfectly. He cradled her face with calloused palms, his lips hot and eager against her own.

She slipped her fingers through his silky hair. He didn’t pull away.

There was a squawk from a distance.

Merrill stared at them from twenty paces away, a hand covering her heart in shock. “ _Elgar'nan_ , Hawke do you know who you’re kissing?”

Varric turned around and hooted a laugh. “Elf, you know you got a mage on your tongue?”

“Can I see your tattoos, too?” Isabela called, eyebrows raised dangerously high.

Hawke sighed through her nose. “Well, that’s never going to end.”

Fenris’ lips brushed her ear, not easing up their proximity one bit. “We could make them really uncomfortable.”

“Not Isabela. That’s a wasted effort.”

He ran a firm hand along her back, sending shivers down her spine. “Oh, I wouldn’t say wasted.”

This time she did kiss the smile off his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was my first Dragon Age fic! Please let me know if I did the characters justice! I hope so, because this was originally going to be about half as long, tied up with a neat bow when Fenris apologizes to Hawke at her estate but they kept fighting so I had to continue to get an ending that was True To The Characters. I hope!  
> Here's a [post for this fic on tumblr](http://katranga.tumblr.com/post/144361814468/fic-dissenting-opinions-rating-explicit)  
> for your reblogging pleasure.  
> Thanks for reading!


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